


old whalebones, whalesongs, and whalers

by pyrality



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Asexual Daud (Dishonored), Canon Compliant, Character Study, Experimental, M/M, Relationship Study, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 16:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14382849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrality/pseuds/pyrality
Summary: “The Whalers talk about you, you know. They fear you're losing your touch, your killing edge, especially when you spared the Overseers and Billie.”“And you?”“I think you’ve grown soft too,” Thomas says, smiling, “but I don’t think it’s bad.”A study of Thomas and Daud.





	old whalebones, whalesongs, and whalers

Thomas is a miscalculation.

Daud has always been fond of the man, an intensely private soul. Thomas doesn’t share much and by Daud’s best guess, he’s in his late thirties. Daud has gleaned some info about him over the years. He doesn’t like wine, he likes pears for their textured fruit, he loves dogs, and when he sleeps, he sleeps like a statue, completely unmoving.

Despite his quiet and private nature, Daud has never doubted his loyalty. Though he supposes the same could’ve been said about Billie. He knew her ambition though, knew how she wanted to command the Whalers like the captain of a ship to a crew. Thomas, though, is unassuming, subdued, and loyal.

They’re in Daud’s office alone; Thomas is silently reviewing his board of headshots, eliminated targets, future ones, a myriad of familiar faces from the noble elite to the dark underground. Daud is fixing his wristbow— it had gotten damaged when he ended up jamming a sleep dart directly into a music box wielding Overseer who was about to turn around. He hadn’t had enough mana left to stop time to choke him out normally. He slots his darts into place. He would’ve killed the Overseers normally, especially for killing his Whalers, but he’d ultimately held back like he had been doing for the past few excursions.

“You’ve gotten soft,” Thomas says suddenly, quiet and thoughtful. His voice is unmuffled by his mask.

Daud looks over his shoulder to, sure enough, see the dark-skinned man looking at him. Thomas has folded his arms across his chest, body only half-turned towards Daud. He holds his gaze for a few moments before he nods his head back at the wall. His dark black hair is unruly and matted from his mask and hood.

“Corvo is coming here and he has not stayed his hand from his previous targets,” Thomas says, but his voice passes no judgment. “Are you worried?”

 _He hasn’t stayed his hand, but he is not senselessly violent_ , Daud thinks.

He remembers the reports his whalers have given him, about how they heard guards talking about how they found a sleep dart in their neck or how they remember an arm around their neck and then waking up somewhere else. Corvo does not kill the innocent, and when he kills the guilty, it is a spectacle.

He killed Overseer Campbell even after branding his face. He killed the Pendelton twins and left them on the balcony in plain view to be found by the guards later. And today, Daud finds out he has killed Hiram Burrows and then aired out his crimes anyway with the audiograph detailing his sins. He slaughtered the torturer and then destroyed his crooked, corrupt Outsider shrine. (But he left his dog untouched, kept it out of the fight entirely with a sleep dart.)

The only exception is Lady Boyle. She was found in her bed with a single crossbow wound to the back of her head. Her mask had been removed and placed on her bedside table, and her eyes were closed, face peaceful, with her hands folded over her stomach. While there were valuables missing from the Boyle Mansion in almost every other room, Waverly’s room was untouched, not a single thing out of place and not a drop of blood on her pristine white outfit.

Almost like Corvo had been sorry he’d had to do such a thing.

He’d killed Lord Brisby much less kindly, however, leaving his body against the wall with a hand cuffed to a pipe, a note crumpled and stuffed in his stiff dead fingers that proclaimed him a stalker and rapist.

He’s aware of Thomas’ eyes on him again. He sets the wristbow down, standing up. “Are you afraid of him?” he asks instead.

Thomas, surprisingly, snickers, turning to cover his mouth with a hand. His brown eyes are amused though. “If I was afraid of an assassin, do you think I’d be so close to you?”

Daud steps closer and Thomas looks up, a half-smile still curling his lips. “He’ll come when he comes. I’m not afraid of him.” He raises his left hand, clenching his fingers. Thomas’ eyes flicker down to look too when his mark glows, gold-white, beneath the leather. "You think I’ve grown soft though.”

Thomas’ eyes are warm. He shakes his head, hair falling against his forehead. “The Whalers talk about you, you know. They fear you're losing your touch, your killing edge, especially when you spared the Overseers _and_ Billie.”

“And you?”

“Did you not hear what I said earlier? You  _have_ grown soft,” Thomas says, smiling, “but I don’t think it’s bad.”

“Mm.”

Daud sets down his wristbow back onto his desk. He is silent for awhile. He sweeps his other hand, his bare right hand over the desk, fingers trailing over worn papers, the handwritten reports on Corvo the Whalers have supplied him with. There are also cut-outs from the local news, wanted posters, propaganda articles on not only Corvo but on the state of the Rat Plague paid for by the Lord Regent.

“Thomas,” he says finally, voice a low drawl. He clenches his hand on the desk into a fist and he does not miss how the other man’s eyes flicker to the motion. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Considering the Outsider is real,” Thomas says dryly, “I think there’s a fair chance ghosts are too. A god, the Marked, witches, the endless dreamscape of the Void. Ghosts would not be the strangest thing I’ve encountered.”

“Do you believe in fate?” he prompts next.

Thomas frowns, folds his arms across his chest and tilts his head. “Where is this going, Daud?”

“Do you believe,” Daud breathes, closing his eyes, “in karma?”

“Do you think that’s what this is?” Thomas asks softly. “That the disgraced Lord Protector coming to kill you is an agent of karma?”

Daud turns from him, suddenly tired, exhausted to his core. Corvo has just killed Hiram Burrows tonight. He will come for Daud next. He can feel it in the air. The Outsider is silent as always, but he can feel the slightest shroud of the Void when he sleeps, and it tastes like amusement. Ego homini lupus. It feels like the tables have turned. He has lived his life feeling special, chosen by god, superior to the masses. He spared Delilah and her witches, seeing within them the same kind of madness and desire to crush people under foot, for no other reason than simple pleasure of power.

“We make our choices and take what comes and the rest is void,” Daud says.

There’s a long silence between them.

“I suppose so.”  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Daud presses the blade against Thomas' cheek, feels more than hears his breath hitch. He curls his other hand along Thomas' jaw, steadying him, anchoring him. The man's brown eyes are warm.

"You trust me?"

Humor sparks in his eyes. "I'd go the distance for you," he says.

It's a private joke, almost, because Thomas knows that Daud knows that he has the greatest transversal distance among all the whalers, able to traverse nearly the entirety of the Flooded District, which he knows like the back of his hand.

This feels better, Daud thinks, as he moves the straight razor along Thomas’ jaw.

The Whalers have been on edge since everything with Billie and with the apprehension of Corvo seeking them— _him_ — out soon. This feels a lot better. It’s not as though Thomas doesn’t worry, but he has faith in Daud too. It feels like yesterday’s talk actually helped them clear the air. Thomas knows what goes unsaid. So he decides to bring humor today.

He likes Thomas. He does; he appreciates the man’s steadfast loyalty and his too warm eyes and his dimples when he smiles.

“You’re a dangerous man,” Thomas says, an easy humor in his voice and eyes.

Daud scoffs, tilts Thomas’ jaw as he shaves along the underside. “You’re not the first, Thomas. And there’s a reason why I have never entertained the Whalers’ pleas that I join them for parties and celebrations at The Golden Cat.”

Thomas snickers. It makes his Adam’s Apple bob. “You know, The Golden Cat has male courtesans too now.”

Daud waves a dismissive hand. “My point still stands."

There’s a sharp knock at the door before the Whaler enters. He doesn’t know why they bother knocking when they come in before he can answer. The Whaler doesn’t seem to notice he’s… intruding because he’s looking at some papers, sorting them as he paces in.

“Master Daud, sir, I had some urgent news to report—”

The Whaler looks up and stop-starts upon seeing them. Thomas is perched on Daud’s desk, legs spread to accommodate Daud as he works the straight razor. Thomas, to his credit, seems embarrassed and uncomfortable at the intrusion. Daud has no such self-consciousness, but he pulls back to give Thomas some space.

“I apologize for… interrupting,” the Whaler says awkwardly.

“Nonsense.” He pitches his voice purposefully lower, husky when he says, "I was just getting to know my second-in-command better."

Thomas shifts.

He does it because he knows how it affects people like Thomas, even if he himself doesn't see the appeal in it. He's no stranger to people propositioning him, people who rake their eyes over his body as he passes, whalers who get distracted when he trains with them. He's been offered a warm body instead of gold before, by devious, sly-eyed nobles who want to thank him after he's returned to them with blood on his blade and hands. He recalls a time when he'd "agreed" to sleep with a noble. The noble had eagerly turned to point the way to his bedroom and Daud had knocked him out for his troubles. And then pickpocketed his safe key and swiped his pay in gold and valuables and then some. Billie had asked him afterwards if he didn't fear retribution, but Daud had merely snorted.

The Whaler in the doorway shifts his weight on his feet, still clearly feeling awkward but continuing nonetheless.

“I have an assortment of information about the subjects you wanted us to keep tabs on. But more importantly, I wanted to tell you: the Whalers patrolling the Flooded District found Corvo Attano’s body.”

Both him and Thomas tense at the mention of his name. Body? Dead?

“He’s not dead… but he was left unconscious in a boat. Seems like he was poisoned. He’s still passed out, sir.”  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
_In another life_ , Daud thinks, as he looks over at Thomas’ sleeping form, reclined in the chair, reports still clutched in his fingers.

In another life, he thinks he would have asked Thomas to come with him and live a quiet life on a farm. That sounds stupid, idyllic, and terribly romantic, and Daud has never been a romantic, but—  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Corvo throws him back down against the broken wall, shoulders still tense as he turns away. He blinks away and he’s gone in a wisp of black smoke.

Daud’s mouth tastes like blood and guilt.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
“Been awhile since I’ve seen you looking this worse for the wear,” Thomas comments, but it’s without bite or heat. He carefully winds the bandage around Daud’s arm. “Saw it. Pretty scrappy fight. Corvo has quite the sword swing.”

“Delilah could’ve given me trouble too,” Daud replies, “If I had given her the chance.”

“Hmm.”

They remain silent as Thomas continues to bandage him up. Daud could do most of this himself. He doesn’t need Thomas to help, and they both know that. After all, Daud has been through worse in his younger years, back when he was still learning to fine tune his skills as an assassin.

Thomas’ fingers slide down his arm and brush against his wrist, over his pulse. He knows what goes unsaid between them, what questions Thomas wants to ask.

“I thought he would kill me.”

Thomas stills and then tightens the bandage particularly hard around the wound, enough to make Daud flinch. He supposes he deserved that.

“Thought I refused to accept it, I knew too that the Outsider favored him over me,” Daud continues, voice quiet, “Corvo is more interesting, younger, and less… savage.”

“He never directly interfered in your fight,” Thomas points out.

“No. But the Outsider is done talking to me. His interest in me has long since waned. He will remain enamored by Corvo for years to come.”

Thomas doesn’t answer him, expression inscrutable. Daud looks away. He can feel the warmth of Thomas’ fingers through the bandages. He wishes things were simpler. He really does. He dreams of quiet mornings and Thomas’ soft words more than he cares to admit. He wants Thomas to make him an honest man, but his mouth still tastes like blood and guilt and his shoulders still feel the weight of Corvo’s gaze through his crooked mask.

Thomas frowns at the bandage around Daud’s waist, covering the deepest cut Corvo had inflicted on his side. Blood is starting to soak through the cloth wrapping again.

“Just the wound settling,” Daud says, looking away, “It’s going to be fine.”

Thomas snorts, turning his attention now to the cut on his shoulder. “No one else I know says that.” A pause and then as he dabs the alcohol into the cut, over the hiss of Daud’s breath, he asks, “You’re going to disappear, aren’t you?”

Thomas deserves better. No matter how much he dreams of having the man by his side, quiet, loyal, with his warm eyes and warmer smile.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Take me with you.”

“We’ll be moving our base of operations since the Overseers know were here. That’s it—”

Thomas grabs the back of his neck and pulls him forward into a kiss. He smashes their mouths together and after the initial sting, they’re kissing properly. Thomas’ fingers play with the fringe of Daud’s hair at the back of his neck. He curls a hand into Thomas’ uniform, kisses him back, inhaling the smell of antiseptic alcohol and blood and the hint of the cheap cologne Thomas uses.

Thomas pulls away after a short bit, breathless. Daud wants to kiss him again, but he doesn’t. He wants to say he cares, but he doesn’t.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
In another life, Daud thinks, as he gathers his coins into a small bag and slips it into the backpack next to his clothes and bonecharms.

He winces as he slings the backpack on, the movement straining the wound in his side and on his shoulder.

He can almost feel the warm touch of Thomas’ fingers over his wrist, over his pulse.


End file.
